Insecurities
by Pluviophile15
Summary: Callum hides the fact that he’s sick and goes on the family picnic anyway. When he collapses, King Harrow takes care of him.


It was beautiful outside; wind whispered in the trees, birds chirped in the branches, and the river by which they sat was gurgling to its fullest.

And Callum felt absolutely awful.

He had done a fairly good job hiding it all week; his stuffy nose and dizziness did nothing to prevent the upcoming family picnic.

He'd been dreading it, but King Harrow and Ezran were looking forward to it, so he put on a brave face. Callum marched right down to the river with them and was determined not to ruin the day.

But when you make plans, that's when life happens.

Callum felt his chest grow heavy, making it hard to breathe, and he felt like someone had shoved cotton in his brain. He focused on breathing regularly.

"Callum? Are you alright?" King Harrow asked with a look of concern.

"Me? I'm fine!" Callum laughed. The laugh turned into a cough at the end, and Callum couldn't stifle it.

"Sorry. Must be allergies," he said.

The King looked doubtful, but he went back to helping Ezran dish out a piece of pie.

Callum didn't eat any when it was offered; the thought of pie made his stomach twist.

"Are you sure you don't want any, Callum? It's apple, your favorite. Or was it pumpkin?" the King asked with a furrowed brow.

"It is apple, sir," Callum said as he thought desperately for some sort of excuse, "I-I, uh, I'm just so stuffed!"

He patted his nauseated stomach as if that solidified his lie.

"Are you sure you're feeling alright, son? You've been rather distant for a few days. Is there something wrong?"

Crap. Callum had never been good at lying.

"Um...yeah, of course I'm-I'm great! Why wouldn't I be?" he said.

"Maybe because you're fidgeting...You know, like when you lie?" the King suggested, "I do take pride in knowing my son relatively well."

Callum shrugged, deliberately not answering.

Harrow squinted at Callum, but didn't press. The King was unsure of how far to go, knowing the boy wasn't like Ezran. With Ezran, all you had to do was ask and he would spill everything. Callum liked to be quieter and didn't like to burden anyone with anything, preferring to keep to himself. Harrow respected his privacy, trying to give the boy space and time to tell him on his own.

Callum blew out a sigh when the King didn't pursue the matter, and closed his eyes tiredly.

Was the sun getting hotter? Callum was sure it was. A sheen of sweat was visible on his face, and his cheeks felt warm.

Why did this have to happen now? Callum thought miserably.

"Let's practice archery, Cal," Ezran said, hopping up and running to get his bow and arrows. "I brought yours, too!"

Groaning internally, the boy got up and, after waiting for the spots in his vision to clear, ran after Ez. Why did they park the carriage so far away? And when did Ezran get so far ahead? Callum panted, feeling his lungs constrict painfully.

His head suddenly was too foggy and pounded too harshly.

Callum stopped, eyes wide. Okay, this was not right. He never wanted to stop the fun, but something was incredibly wrong with him. Black spots crowded his sight, and his breathing was too thin and too fast.

(POV Harrow)

Harrow watched his sons run, chuckling. He was glad that Callum seemed to act a bit better, even though he didn't look like he was in the highest of spirits. Every time Harrow looked at the boy, Callum had his eyes closed and appeared to be breathing heavily. He had no clue what was the matter, but he didn't press when the boy didn't answer him properly.

The King was unsure of how far to push Callum, knowing the boy wasn't like Ezran. With Ezran, all you had to do was ask and he would spill everything. Callum liked to be quieter and didn't like to burden anyone with anything, preferring to keep to himself. Harrow respected his privacy, trying to give the boy space and time to tell him on his own.

The King sighed and shook his head. Callum would be fine. He was worrying over nothing.

Turning his attention back to the boys, he noticed Callum doubled over across the field. His dark brow rose as it looked like the boy was swaying.

Wait. Why was he swaying?

The King stood, about ready to stride across the field and get an answer out of Callum when the boy dropped.

Harrow's eyes widened, and he bolted to his son as fast as he could.

"Callum?!"

He knelt near his son's head and gently lifted it into his lap. His hand brushed against Callum's forehead and nearly gasped at the heat radiating from it.

"Callum? Callum, I need you to wake up, son."

No reply.

"Ezran! Bring the carriage over here, now," he called.

The blue-eyed child led the horses over to them a few moments later, and Harrow instructed Ezran to climb in the back. He scooped up the burning Callum and laid him in the seat next to his brother.

"Keep hold of him and make sure he doesn't fall. I'm going to be driving quickly," Harrow said hurriedly.

He practically flew to the driver's seat and cracked the reigns, the horses going as fast as he dared make them.

When they made it to the castle, Harrow jumped out of his seat and flung open the door. He pulled Callum back into his arms, cradling the boy's head against his chest.

"Ez, go fetch the nurse, quickly. Tell her Callum isn't well. And that it's something serious. I'm taking Cal to my room."

Ezran ran off, and Harrow carried Callum to the royal chambers. The boy barely shifted, only moving his head to bury it deeper against the King. Despite being so worried, Harrow found it extremely endearing.

The guards outside his room didn't question him when he rushed past them without so much as a word.

Harrow gently laid his son on his bed and removed the boy's boots. Walking to the bathroom, he grabbed a rag and plunged it in his washbasin, then wrung it out. He brought it back to the prince and folded it carefully, then placed it on the sweaty forehead. Callum moaned in his sleep at the cold fabric, and shivered.

Harrow pulled a thin blanket over his lower half, knowing he had to keep the child cool, but wishing he could just pile on as many blankets as Callum wanted and cradle him until he didn't shiver.

The nurse and Ezran came into the room then, the nurse shooing the King aside, and Ezran standing next to him. His youngest took his hand and looked up at him.

"Is Callum okay? What's wrong?" he asked.

Harrow sighed and rubbed a worn hand up and down Ezran's arm.

"I don't know, buddy. He's going to be fine, though. Madame Pram will figure out what's wrong and fix him."

He looked down at his boy and said, "Why don't you go play for a while? I'll stay with Cal, and you can check on him after you've had dinner."

"Okay," Ezran said. "Ooh! And if he wakes up, give him a hug. He told me the other day that he liked your hugs."

"Oh? Why didn't he tell me?"

"Well, he didn't say, but I think he's too embarrassed," Ezran said matter-of-factly, before he skipped down the stairs.

"Hmm."

A few hours later, after the nurse had made sure Callum was comfortable and had medicine in his system, she came out and informed the King of his situation.

"He has some sort of virus," she said, "he needs plenty of rest. The prince shouldn't have even been out of bed in the first place. That's the reason he fainted; he was over exerted and overheated. I wouldn't move him right now, if I were you, Your Majesty. He's asleep, and he needs to stay that way."

King Harrow thanked and dismissed her, then went in to see his son.

Callum lied in the middle of the huge bed, a new cloth over his forehead, blankets pulled up over his stomach, and now bare chested, as the nurse took off his shirt to cool him off more.

His breathing sounded easier, deep and clear.

His cheeks were still rosier than usual, but he looked much better already.

The King pulled up a chair next to the bed and sat, gently grabbing the small, clammy hand that rested on top of the quilt.

"Callum, why didn't you tell me you were sick?" he whispered.

He sighed when he inevitably didn't get a reply.

Harrow sat and sat, waiting for his son to awaken and be his normal self again. He missed the boy's quiet, but comforting presence. Now he only lied still.

Just as he was about to nod off, Callum shifted. His dark eyelashes flickered, and his eyes finally opened. King Harrow was there, relief evident on his tanned face.

"Callum. Finally. You had me worried, son," Harrow said.

Callum's face burned.

"I'm sorry," he said softly, "I didn't mean to ruin the picnic."

"If you didn't feel well, you should've said something. We could have done the picnic another day," he chided, but without any heat.

"I-I just...I knew this was your first day off in a while and you've been planning it, and you've been so busy doing other things that I didn't want you to spend your time off taking care of me," the prince rambled.

Harrow raised a warm hand to the boy's cheek.

"Cal, it is my job to take care of you. And I like that job. I will always take care of you," he said softly. "It doesn't matter if this is how we spend our time with one another. Ezran can come sit with us and I can read to you both, or we can play games, or just talk. As long as we're together."

Callum fidgeted and looked down.

"I-I'm just the step-prince, though. And I don't want to make you and Ez sick."

Harrow's brown eyes gained a confused light to them, and he tilted his head.

"What does being my step-son have to do with anything?"

"W-well..." Callum steeled himself, "It's just, you should spend more time with Ezran, 'cause...because I-I'm not your real son."

There. It was out. Callum's face burned, not just with fever.

The King looked incredulous.

"That fever must have cooked your brain. Callum, that is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. I thought you were smarter than that."

Harrow got up from his chair, pulled back the quilt, and slid into bed next to the boy. He wrapped an arm around Callum's bare shoulders and pulled him into his chest.

"Just because you're my step-son doesn't mean I love you any less than your brother. Or that I love Ezran more. I know that it's different, not being related by blood, but I do love you like you were my own, Callum," Harrow said fervently.

Tears were brimming in the boy's emerald eyes, and he held in a sob. He let his head fall against the King's arm.

Harrow hugged the prince fiercely, as if he could squeeze his love into him. He could feel Callum's small shoulders shaking.

"It's okay, son. You can let it out if you want," he whispered.

As if all he needed was permission, Callum slumped fully against Harrow, letting his tears slide down his face and hiccuping.

The King slid his hand up and down Callum's arm and ran his other hand through the boy's hair.

After a few long minutes of silence, Harrow heard Callum's slow, sleep-laden breathing. He smiled and shifted the boy, making him more comfortable and allowing the boy to snuggle closer when he moved.

Harrow dropped a kiss on the boy's burning forehead.

"I love you, Callum."


End file.
